Untitled
by Abyssinian
Summary: Something terrible happens between Goren and Eames, and the results may make them becoming crushingly closer then they ever thought they'd be. Goren x Eames
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue:**

It was the sound of papers fluttering to the ground. The slight ruffle as they shifted together, little whispers brushing together. Soft, soft, nothing. It was too loud, too heavy, too...too...everything. It was denial, it was degradation, it was breakdown. Falling apart, crumbling, melting, slinking down, tripping, losing...grip.balance.faith.

Eames watched him from the doorway, her hand resting on the frame, not sure what to say, do. His hand was in the air near his temple, faltering and shaking. An injured bird, a seemingly separate entity from the rest of his body. The look on his face was absolute contortion. It was so painful to look at. Hurtful, even. It was like a train wreck, she couldn't look away.

"I-I..."

Alex stepped forward, "Bobby..."

Her voice. It was automatic. He was pulling himself together. Fast. He was stitching himself up. Loose stitches, but enough to momentarily hold up. He'd go home later and pull at the strings...Oh no. He told himself he'd tighten them. He was useless in pieces. It was all so useless. He dropped his eyes to the table full of strewn out folders and tumbled sheets of information. So _useless_. He blinked, his front teeth together in quiet frustration. Containing. Containment. Squish.

Eames watched as his head finally turned to her. His gaze was always down when he was contemplating something. Thinking. And then he wasn't anymore, and his eyes flickered up to her face. It was such a slow reaction. But it was a reaction. Alex bit her lower lip, shuffling up the right words. She had to paw for them, and even then, it wasn't easy. "Bobby, I'm sorr-"

The hand that had found rest on the messy table, raised to stop her words. Pause her apology because there was no rewind afterward. To her horror, he was dispelling it all with a quiet, "It's not your fault." He wasn't looking at her anymore, but down and a little to the left. She opened her mouth to protest, the blank expression on his face was almost unabearable. She didn't get another word in, because the sound of his chair scuffing back and the quiet movement of him getting up, gathering papers and shoving them into his binder were interrupting. Purposeful, deliberate interruption.

He walked passed her without a glance. "See you tomorrow, Eames."

"Bobb-"

He didn't look back.


	2. Chapter 2

_One day earlier:_

"No!" A loud bang as he threw his binder onto the table, followed by a short pause as he shut his eyes briefly. Composing himself, Eames knew. He bolted foward and raised a finger at Mr. McGraw. A softer tone. A tone of finality. "_No." _ Almost a reminder. Bobby rested his hand against the table and leaned over so his gaze could easily meet Mr. McGraw's haughty eyes.

"You don't get to play." Bobby said softly, seriously. Then he added, his voice changing with a lighter tone. A small eerie smile playing at his lips. "This isn't your game, Johnny."

Eames watched as Bobby straightened up, circling to the otherside of the table. He said forcefully, "_My _ rules." Bobby pointed to himself with four fingers. "_My_ game." He raised his hand and shook his finger, "You can't manipulate me. Nuh uh."

McGraw had a defiant look as he stared down Bobby, Bobby staring back, his grin widening. Eames found the staring contest a little frightening. McGraw's stoic gaze. Silent and deep. Confident. Angry. There was angry, and Eames was reassured somewhat that her partner would sniff it out if he hadn't already, and devour it whole.

Bobby's grin never wavered, and the stare down seemed endless. But as soon as it'd started, it ended. Bobby suddenly canting his head to the side, his grin fading. He looked down briefly to smooth out his tie as he sat down in the chair across from McGraw. A long pause.

"It's okay, Johnny." Bobby said, in a sympathetic voice. He looked over at Eames who looked back. Silent communication. His head turned back to McGraw. An amused look, his eyes glittering.

"We already know."


	3. Chapter 3

_Three Weeks Later:_

He looked older today. Heavier. Slouchier. The bags under his eyes were telling. He was exhausted. Yet, as time went on, he continued on. Working. Eames could not understand it. But she respected it. Worried over it. But you couldn't do anything for a shot tiger that refused to crumble and die. You could only follow. She'd followed him through and through to the edge of cases. Hot, lukewarm, cold. The cases were puzzles and solutions. They'd put them together.

Yet now, he was in pieces and she was holding the parts. She'd been the one to break him and she was guilty. Fearful. She didn't know what she feared but the way he talked and looked at her was cold and empty and she didn't think she could take it anymore. But she knew, pleading wouldn't help. She'd tried it before and it'd only whispered through one of his ears, curled around his brain, and went out the other, brushed away with an, "It's fine, Eames." Her begging for forgiveness hadn't stuck, only fallen away in peices. Just like him.

He talked to her still, worked with her. But there was always an avoidance of how she'd handled him that night. He understood that they'd both made a mistake. But she'd pulled the trigger and he couldn't help but blame her. He would've done the same. But he hadn't.

Eames watched him as he typed up his report, his eyes shifting through lines on the computer screen. Three weeks ago, she'd felt the same. Time had not dulled the chill and she had not recovered. And while it seemed like Bobby had recovered, she knew there was a hole that couldn't be sewn together. The stitches kept ripping.


End file.
